


the rivers keep filling with grief and hope

by ohallows



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Coda, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Literal Sleeping Together, Other, Panic Attacks, Scars, implied necromancy, this is about tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: “You didn’t answer the question,” Barnes eventually says out of nowhere. Cel cocks their head, but doesn’t take their eyes off of the task at hand. The bruising is nasty, but as more of the blood washes away, they can confirm that the skin beneath is unbroken, leaving nothing but a twisting scar behind. It helps, a bit, but they still feel like they’re just simmering under the surface, waiting to get pushed over the edge.“What question?” they ask, distracted as they rinse out the rag. The water in the bowl is mostly red, now, and Cel’s hands are stained with Barnes’ blood. They set their jaw, and focus on the heartbeat they can feel in his chest as they continue to wipe the blood off.“I asked if you were okay,” Barnes reminds them, and Cel flashes back to earlier, when the panic was fluttering through their skin like a hummingbird, when their thoughts were hyperfocused on who was dead and who they could still save. Barnes sits up a bit on his elbows, catching their gaze. “You didn’t answer.”
Relationships: Commander James Barnes/Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 20
Kudos: 46





	the rivers keep filling with grief and hope

**Author's Note:**

> RUSTY QUILL GAMING IS A PODCAST
> 
> episode coda for 174 uhhhh my brain is fully broken right now. genuinely just stopped breathing when alex said barnes was impaled like. completely stopped i didn’t breathe again until he moved. 
> 
> i am fully operating under the idea that strange new friend will be able to bring everyone back as i refuse to believe otherwise. k cool
> 
> also i know that functionally you’re fine if you’ve been healed but also - what if you weren’t. also also i know cel and earhart go off to explore but like. let’s table that for now

Cel’s brain is racing in a thousand different directions when they break out from the engine room and skid to a stop on the deck. Everything looks terrible and awful, and the second of _genuine_ optimism that they’d had when the ship had finally come to a stop evaporates in an instant. They can barely do more than track who’s on deck; Zolf barks out an order and hops over the side, disappearing before anyone can respond. Cel does a quick scan, heart sinking as they realise that only half of the crew is still there. 

There’s no time to ask what happened; everyone moves at once, following Zolf down to the ground below, and Cel follows, heart pounding in their throat as they beat back memories that swim to the forefront of their mind. (It’s hard to forget the smell of burning wood and blood on the ground.) Cel feels like they’re going to be sick as they land on the ground next to the ship, but they push the memories of their home away and run after Zolf, needing to help in whatever way they can. 

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , that they never got healing potions in Hiroshima, because those would be invaluable now, and yet all they can do is choke on the smoke coming from the ship and keep running. A few people are laying down by the ship, some moving, some not. Cel can’t stomach looking at them for long, but they _have_ to, have to figure out who’s here and who’s missing and who they can still save.

Friedrich is the closest bod - person, first _person_ , they can’t think any way other than that - that they can see, and Cel runs over to him, falling to his knees at his side. 

“Hey! Hey, Friedrich,” they say, slapping his face a bit. He doesn’t move, but they can feel his pulse jumping in his neck. They pull a set of warm weather gear out of their pack and lay it over him, keeping him as warm as they sit there, helpless to do anything else.

They glance around, looking for anything that will help, and are met with nothing but a snow-covered landscape and Zolf and the others, running around to do what they can. A few of the kobolds are missing. Cel can’t tell who, not without looking more closely, and the ones who are here look so broken that they just - they _can’t._ Azu and Hamid are gone too, although Cel heard Hamid scream in grief, and Carter, Barnes, and Wilde are nowhere to be seen. 

They stand up on shaky legs, arms wrapped around their abdomen as they settle into autopilot, and start grabbing supplies from the ship. 

“Everyone will need bedrolls and tents,” they mutter, rifling through the ship’s stores. “Food. Water. Blankets. I can - I can do that, okay, one for everyone, it’s fine. We - everyone will be fine. Zolf and Azu will heal them, and everyone will be okay, and you won’t have to lose anyone else. Okay? Okay. Okay.” 

They lay out the bedrolls on the ground and start to set up the tents; it’ll give everyone a little bit of protection from the cold, and it keeps their hands busy as they try, very hard, not to think about the people who are still missing. It doesn’t take them as they thought it would, and they rise to their feet, staring out at the field as, one by one, Zolf brings their friends back and begins to lay them out. Wilde, Sassraa, Carter, Meerk… four of them. Four of them, and more still missing. Cel begins to shake again and, with an acute sense of shame, averts their eyes, watching Zolf’s face again. It’s nothing but a blank slate, but Cel can see the storm behind his eyes. They should go over to him. They should go talk to him, see what they can do, but - but - they - they can’t - 

Okay. They… they need to do something. They have to - okay, Skraak is making a perimeter, that’s good, that’s so one thing down. The tents are set up, and Earhart is getting to making a fire. Two things down, two things they need, and Cel is just standing around, _useless_ , and - 

A twig snaps behind them, and their head whips around, eyes scanning for where the sound came from. Barnes comes stumbling out of the forest, supported by Azu, shirt caked with blood that seems to be his own. 

The relief _rushes_ through Cel, nearly knocking them to the ground with how strong it is. They can’t hold back the gasp, clapping their hands over their mouth when they see him, and they feel frozen to the spot. He looks awful even from a distance, barely able to hold his own weight and swaying from side to side as they move. His hand is clutching at his side, wrapped around his abdomen, and him and Azu are moving slowly, but they’re _moving,_ and whatever spell was keeping Cel in place snaps. 

They don’t care about the blood, don’t care about _anything_ when they run toward Barnes, slowing only so that they don’t completely crash into him. He looks the worse for wear up _close,_ too. They reach out, holding him by the shoulders, and Azu slips out from under his arm without a word.

“What happened?” Cel asks, mostly to Barnes, but he just closes his eyes in pain and leans into them. They keep him steady, not sure what else they can do.

“A tree branch went through his hip. I healed him as much as I could,” Azu answers in his place. “Hamid ran off, I need to go find him.” 

“Okay. Okay, yes,” Cel says, mind racing. “Yes, er - please. Bring him back safe.”

Azu nods jerkily. Her entire face is pinched with tension and anxiety, and Cel reaches out to pat her on the arm, briefly. She doesn’t react, just turns and heads off into the forest at half a jog, disappearing into the trees. Cel watches her go, heart sinking; Barnes coughs wetly in front of them, and their attention laser-focuses onto him and the trail of blood dripping down from his lips.

“Gods, thank - okay, hey, Barnes - James, are - are you okay?” they ask urgently, hands on the side of his face. They brush away the blood on his chin, fingers moving frantically. Barnes’ eyes are hazy and unfocused with pain, but he manages a nod, slumping into Cel’s grip a bit.

“I’m okay,” he says, voice no louder than a whisper. Cel knows Azu healed him when she found him, but he still seems so out of it that the anxiety keeps spiking in their chest. They pull him into a tight hug, being _so_ careful to avoid his side, and he sinks into their embrace. His one free arm, the one not holding his side, wraps around their waist lightly. “ _You_ alright?”

“I’m - don’t worry about me, I was in the engine room, I didn’t - you’re the one who got _thrown_ and, apparently, impaled, so let’s worry about you, okay? You’re - gods’ sake, you’re still _bleeding,_ I know Azu healed you but - we need to get you to Zolf, alright?” Cel says, taking Azu’s place at Barnes’ side. “We just need to get you to Zolf, and he can heal you up, and then you’ll be okay, and we can see who else isn’t okay. Or is okay! Maybe. Maybe everyone else is okay. Let’s - let’s go.”

Barnes doesn’t put up a fight; he lets Cel support him as they make their way back to camp, moving as slowly as anything. Cel freezes up every time he makes a pained noise, checking in to make sure they aren’t making it worse, but Barnes just tells them to continue on, face set. They make it back eventually; Zolf’s face is stony and blank, and Cel feels their heart sink at the sight. He gathers everyone around; Cel refuses to let go of Barnes, and the channel positive energy runs over their skin as well. Zolf doesn’t say anything after casting, just going back to laying the bodies out silently. Cel wants to go talk to him, but Barnes is still leaning on them, and they aren’t going to leave his side if he’s still not okay. The healing should have worked, but if what Azu said was true, this was a worse injury than just a few cuts and scrapes. 

“Go on,” Barnes says, pulling his arm back. “Just gonna… have a little sit, I think. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’ll be okay?” Cel asks, worry bubbling up in their chest despite (or maybe because of) what Barnes said, and he nods, reaching out and taking their hand. He gives it a squeeze, just briefly, before his hand falls.

“Had worse done in the navy. Survived that too,” he says, which very much so _isn’t_ as reassuring as he probably wanted it to be, and Cel’s mouth tugs down into a frown. “Promise I’m fine. Just a bit sore.”

Cel chews on their lip. “Call Zolf over if anything seems wrong. Please? I - it’s been a very long hour, and I really, really don’t want to lose anyone else, and I especially don’t want to lose you, okay? So just - I know you’re a big tough navy man, but. Tell Zolf if it’s bad.”

Barnes gives them a smile, and the corner of his eyes crinkle, but there’s still an undercurrent of pain in the curve of his lips. “I’m not that tough, don’t worry. I’ll tell him. Promise. You go on.”

Cel takes a deep breath, and then reaches down to give him another quick hug, burying their head into his shoulder for half a second before pulling back. 

“Okay. Okay,” they say, and take a step back. “I’ll go. Stay here. Call Zolf.”

Barnes gives them a salute, and then his hand falls back to his side. Cel turns, emotions warring within their chest, and only looks back five times while they bound over to where Zolf is laying out the bodies. 

Cel is on automatic for the rest of the afternoon; the bedrolls still need setting up, and they need to help Zolf lay everything out, and they need to - need to… gods, there’s so _much_ , and their head is still so _loud_ , and every few seconds they need to check on Barnes to make sure he’s still okay. They move without really realising they are, for a bit, but eventually all the bedrolls are set up, and there’s a pile of rations next to the fire for anyone to grab who needs it. 

Azu and Hamid come back before long; Hamid’s eyes are red, and his face is rubbed raw where he’s been scrubbing at the tears falling down his cheek. He’s still crying, him and Azu both, and Cel can hear little hitched sobs coming from Hamid as he passes them. Azu falls to her knees at Cel’s side, reaching out with a shaking hand as she closes Wilde and Carter’s eyes. Kiko joins them before long, and Azu grabs onto her as tightly as she can, body shaking with silent sobs. Cel rests a hand on her back, rubbing as soothingly as they can, and they sit there together in silence, the bodies of their fallen friends laid out before them.

An eagle appears, sitting on tree branches in the distance, and then they change, and there’s a human there. Cel is the one who speaks to them; Zolf is busy with everything else, and Azu and Hamid aren’t up for talking. Cel really isn’t either, but they have years of practice at hiding the pain and anxiety just under their chest, so they step forward when no one else does. 

When the druid says that she can save their friends, Cel starts to cry; it’s less because of anything she said, and more because there’s just so much _emotion_ built up in their chest, and it needs to go somewhere. They thank them, over and over and _over_ again, and everyone agrees to let this group try, and Cel nearly collapses to the ground when she disappears from the sheer relief that spreads through their blood. They feel almost like a marionette, strung up for so long on nothing but anxiety and a mindless need to do something, and now the strings are gone. Zolf’s at their side as their legs nearly give out, and Cel gives him a thankful smile as he helps steady them. 

The druid - Cel didn’t catch their name - returns soon enough with her friends, and together, they complete the first stage of the resurrection ritual. All they and the rest can do now is wait until tomorrow, to see if the ritual has set correctly. It’s a tense silence, around the fire, everyone trying to pretend like they aren’t staring at the bodies laying just far enough away from the fire. 

Eventually, everyone retreats to their own side of the clearing; the druids leave, promising to return at first light, and Cel hugs each and every one of them, whispering desperate thanks into their ears. 

Time passes glacially. Cel hates waiting; they sit around the fire for about fifteen minutes before their leg shaking threatens to nearly unseat them, and then they stand on unsteady feet as they wrap a blanket more tightly around their shoulders and head over to the tent where Barnes retreated earlier.

“Um. Barnes? It’s, um. Me, it’s Cel. Can - can I come in?” Cel asks, standing at the entryway. There’s a noise of assent from inside, and Cel slips in, drawing the canvas back. 

Barnes is stood in the middle of the room, uninjured side facing Cel as he pulls his shirt off - well, he gets halfway there before he winces, breathing out heavily in pain. Cel moves to his side in an instant, before they even realise that they’ve moved, and their hands hover halfway in between their side and the front of his shirt. 

“Do you mind if -“ they say, trailing off, and Barnes just shakes his head, letting his own hands fall from the grip he has on the shirt. 

Cel reaches out, fingers delicately holding onto the fabric, and they carefully maneuver the shirt off, pausing any time Barnes sucks in a sharp, pained breath. It takes a while, but eventually it’s off, and Barnes tosses the shirt into the corner. He finally turns to face Cel, and they don’t _want_ it to, but their gaze immediately falls to his injured side. There’s a bruise, about twice the size of Cel’s hand, that spans from Barnes’ hip up to his chest. Dried blood cakes his skin, a ruddy brownish red. Azu and Zolf healing it must have completely closed the wound, and Cel has enough faith in them to believe it’s so, but it still sets them on edge to see that much blood on his skin.

Cel eventually looks away, biting their lip, and grabs a bowl, pouring water from their skein into it.

“Just - just wait here, okay?” they say, and step out of the tent. They head over to the fire that’s burning in the center of the clearing and kneel down, setting the bowl near it so that it will start to warm up. 

No one is speaking. Earhart went into her own tent hours ago, and hasn’t surfaced since. Azu and Hamid are sitting on the other side of the fire; Hamid is leaning into her side, and Cel can easily make out the tears that are still steadily falling down his face.

It’s a somber picture, and for the first time, Cel can’t make themselves force the upbeat attitude. As they wait for the water to warm, they dig through their pockets and find a strip of rag, as clean as anything around here is going to get. They don’t know where the first-aid kits ended up - either in Earhart’s cabin, or back on the ship - and they don’t really have the energy to go looking. The rag will have to do, for now.

They clench it tightly in their fist, knuckles white, and wait. The water eventually warms, and they stand, a goodbye half on the tip of their tongue before it dies at the look on everyone’s face. 

They retreat into Barnes’ tent, ignoring how the bowl slowly starts to burn their hand. He clearly didn’t listen to them, having changed into another set of trousers since Cel left. His old ones, bloodstained and crusty, are laying in a pile near the entrance. Cel gives him a stern look when they enter.

“I told you not to move,” they say, and Barnes raises an eyebrow. 

“No, you told me to wait here,” he responds. “And I did. But the trousers were getting all stiff. Didn’t want to fall asleep in bloody clothes again.”

Cel can’t lecture him for that, but their lips do pull together into an unhappy line. They set the bowl down and kneel next to the bedroll, tapping the ground next to them. Barnes gives them a slightly confused look, but does go, sitting next to them. Cel adjusts the bedroll, rolling it up in a facsimile of a pillow and sets it down before gesturing for Barnes to lay down. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question it. 

“Thank you,” Cel says, pushing Barnes gently down with a hand. He goes willingly, looking up at them almost curiously as he rests his head against his bedroll. Thankfully, he seems happy to lay there, even if he still doesn’t seem to completely have an idea of what Cel is getting at. “Now stay still.”

They dip the rag into the water, and squeeze it out until it’s just damp, before methodically rinsing the blood off. The tent is quiet around them, apart from the rub of the rag on Barnes’ skin and the water dripping back into the bowl when Cel re-wets the rag. Barnes eyes slip closed as Cel works, taking their time as they carefully clean the injury. There’s. A lot more blood than Cel had expected, and they wipe off the dried blood from his torso, his chin, his arm, his hip, and they try, very, _very_ hard not to think about how much worse this could have been.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Barnes eventually says out of nowhere. Cel cocks their head, but doesn’t take their eyes off of the task at hand. The bruising is nasty, but as more of the blood washes away, they can confirm that the skin beneath is unbroken, leaving nothing but a twisting scar behind. It helps, a bit, but they still feel like they’re just simmering under the surface, waiting to get pushed over the edge.

“What question?” they ask, distracted as they rinse out the rag. The water in the bowl is mostly red, now, and Cel’s hands are stained with Barnes’ blood. They set their jaw, and focus on the heartbeat they can feel in his chest as they continue to wipe the blood off. 

“I asked if you were okay,” Barnes reminds them, and Cel flashes back to earlier, when the panic was fluttering through their skin like a hummingbird, when their thoughts were hyperfocused on who was dead and who they could still save. Barnes sits up a bit on his elbows, catching their gaze. “You didn’t answer.”

Cel swallows heavily, rag pausing in its ministrations for a moment. They go back and wring it out once more; the water is steadily getting colder in the chill of the air, but it's still lukewarm, so they don’t have an excuse to leave and fill it up again. “I told you not to worry about me.”

“No, see, that’s not an answer,” Barnes says, and takes the rag out of their hand. 

“Oi!” Cel says, and grabs it back. Barnes doesn’t put up much of a fight, either because he doesn’t want to or because he can’t; they don’t want to know which. They push him back down, hand only shaking a little bit, and Barnes goes willingly. “I’m completely fine! The - I don’t know if you saw, actually, but there’s a group of druids who are doing a ceremony, and they’ll bring everyone back, and all our friends will be okay again. So! There’s. Uh. Not much to not be okay about, right? We aren’t going to lose anyone, we just… we just need to wait until tomorrow, and then things will work out. So - so just be quiet and let me finish cleaning you up, because I’m fine, and everything is going to be _fine._ Everyone is.” 

“...You don’t sound that fine,” Barnes says after a moment, looking steadily up at them.

“Well, I am. It’s fine! I’m… I’m coping. Things will look better tomorrow, and then we can. I can fix the ship! And it will. It will be even better than before, and I can make it safer, and we can get to Svalbard and find out what’s causing the infection, and then we can - can save everyone. The world, even! It’s fine.”

Barnes doesn’t look like he believes them for a second, but he doesn’t push for the time being, giving a little sigh as he settles back into the bedroll. 

They keep at it, gently rolling Barnes onto his (uninjured) side so that they can clean up the dried blood on his back, as well. It takes a while - the rag is mostly dirty, so they dig through their pack and happen to find another strip of cloth they can use, dipping it into the water. With Barnes back cleaned, they let him roll back into his original position, and get the cloth wet again, evaluating to see if there are any spots that they missed.

Their hand hovers there for a moment; nearly all the blood is gone, apart for a little bit on Barnes’ upper arm. Mindlessly, they dip the rag back into the water, ready to wring it out, but the chill of the water is a shock against their fingers. More time must have passed then they thought. They push through it, anyway, murmuring a quiet apology to him as they start to rub at his arm. Unbidden, the realisation that they have… no idea what to do next rises in their mind, and they stop halfway through wiping away the last of the blood. Their grip on the strip of cloth tightens, and they can feel their jaw clenching as they stare down at the few remaining flecks, eyes starting to water with exhausted tears.

“Cel, I can -“ Barnes starts, hand covering theirs as he reaches up to take the rag, but Cel shakes their head.

“No,” they say, and neither they nor Barnes point out how their voice cracks on the single syllable. “No, I - I just, um, I need to do this? Okay? I can - help, I can - this is something I can do to help, and I can make sure -”

They swallow again, and their thoughts start to swirl. The bruise is _so_ large, and Cel knows he’s healed, but it stretches, bigger than their hand, and it hits Cel just how close he came. He could have died. _So_ easily. It wouldn’t have taken much. 

Their hand pauses on Barnes’ side, fingers flexing against the skin. His heartbeat is strong, a steady beat that Cel tries to focus on, to keep them calm, but they can’t get the idea of Barnes, silent and still in the trees, out of their head. 

They don’t know a lot about healing, but they know a bit about anatomy, and if Barnes had been hit higher, it - he wouldn’t be talking to them right now. He would be out there, lying with Wilde and Carter and Sassraa and Meerk, and Cel would be cleaning blood off of a corpse, and -

“Cel,” Barnes says, and Cel snaps out of their thoughts, dropping the rag onto his torso. It’s a shock of red, soaked through with the blood that Cel had washed off of him, and their eyes lock onto it, splayed across his skin. They grab it back, wringing it out nervously between their hands. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” they babble, and flinch back when Barnes sits up, giving them a concerned look. Their eyes are burning from the tears left unshed, and they duck their head as Barnes shifts a bit closer, reaching out and grabbing Cel’s shoulder. “I didn’t - this wasn’t supposed to -“

“Hey. Hey, Cel, don’t -“

“I was so scared,” they whisper, and their hands begin to shake where they’re sitting in their lap. “I - I came out of the engine room, and half the crew was gone, and the ship was _wrecked,_ and I couldn’t see who was okay and who _wasn’t,_ and - it’s my _fault,_ we read things wrong, and if I had just been better, it would have been okay, we all would have been fine, it - _gods,_ this happens every time, I just lose _everyone.”_

Tears are sliding down their face, _pouring_ down as Cel tries to take a breath, but all of the tension and anxiety and panic and anger and regret and _guilt_ from the day is crashing down on them, leaving them gasping for air. They can barely even feel Barnes’ hand where it rests on their shoulder. It feels like they’re locked inside their own mind, and it’s been so long since this has happened that Cel just feels like they’re spinning out of control.

“It’s my _fault,_ Barnes, I - the engine, it was my job, and I overshot so badly we just _crashed,_ and it’s just like it was before, everyone is hurt because of me, and people _died,_ and there’s nothing I can _do,_ because - because I messed up, and now four of our friends are lying out there, dead, because -“

“Cel,” Barnes says, and his hands are against Cel’s cheeks, forcibly tilting their face up so that they’re staring right into his eyes. “Breathe with me.”

His hands are so cold against their face, a complete shock to the system that, finally, snaps them out of the spiral of memories swirling around their mind. Cel clings to it like a lifeline, hands coming up and pressing against Barnes’. They take deep, shuddering breaths, matching his pace, and eventually their heart rate begins to slow, dropping to a much more normal speed. It takes a while until they aren’t hyperventilating, until they aren’t pressing against Barnes’ hands hard enough that their hands cramp. 

They keep breathing, fingers sliding in the space between Barnes’. His hands are warming under their touch, and his skin is rough and calloused where it brushes against their cheeks. Eventually, they feel like back to themselves again; the tears slow and stop, and they can breathe without needing to count out the timing in their heads. Barnes doesn’t move away for an instant, and leans in, pressing his forehead to theirs as they both share the air between them. 

Cel is still shaking, but it’s mostly gone, now, apart from the quiet trembles that resonate from their soul. They feel more centered, more… well, _present,_ as their emotions drop to a much more manageable level. They let their eyes slip shut for a moment, focusing on the feel of Barnes’ hands on their face, on his forehead pressed against theirs. 

“Better?” Barnes asks, breath brushing against their lips, and Cel takes another deep breath before nodding. “Good. Er. Glad this. Helped. Used it in the navy loads,” Barnes explains. “Shellshock, and all. And, er - with Zolf, too. Had a lot of these, in the early months.”

“Thank you,” they say. “I, um. I didn’t - thanks.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything for a moment, thumb brushing gently against Cel’s cheek in a rhythm that helps them stay centered, helps them stay _present._ Helps keep them focused on this instead of the thoughts swirling around their head in an endless cycle. 

“I’m not… good, with this sort of thing?” Barnes says eventually. “Never really got the whole. Hang of it, I suppose. Navy doesn’t really reward emotion, yeah? But. This. The, er. The crash? Everyone? It ain’t your fault, Cel. None of this is.”

Cel wants to believe him. They really, _really_ do, but there’s a difference between wanting and being _able,_ especially for them. Maybe one day, they will.

“... You’re not as bad as you think, Barnes,” Cel says, and pulls back a bit. Barnes’ hands fall from their face and back into his lap. They sit there in an unsteady silence for a moment. Cel wipes away the tears trailing down their face, and gives a bit of a sigh. “It’s just… hard. Today.”

“C’mere,” Barnes says, and Cel all but collapses into his embrace, arms around his shoulders as their entire body shakes. They haven’t - they haven’t lost control like this in front of anyone for the longest time. The last time must have been - must have - Cel’s hand unconsciously goes to the ring around their neck, fiddling with it absently as they try to focus on the feeling of Barnes’ arms around them. It’s an anchor point amidst the sea, but the longer that they stay here, the further away the emotions get until they’re able to breathe again. 

“Gods, I’m so _glad_ you’re okay,” Cel breathes. They tuck their head into his neck, trembling. His arms come up around their back, holding onto them tightly. “I don’t - I don’t know what I would have done if -“

“I’m here. Yeah?” Barnes says, rubbing Cel’s back. 

“No, I know, it’s just. I can’t - I can’t lose you, is the thing? I mean. Any of you, I can’t - I’ve had more than enough loss in my life, and I don’t want to have that again, and -“ they blow out a breath, a cross between frustrated and guilty. “I can’t - I can’t lose you. Okay? You, specifically. Everyone. But you too.”

“Yeah, we - we all know that, Cel. We don’t want to lose you either.”

“No, that’s not what I - I mean, _yes_ , it is. But it’s also - I just - if you - _gods,_ James,” Cel says, frustrated with the words that keep getting stuck in their throat. 

They’ve always been better with action than with explanations, and it’s the same now when they pull back, hand shifting to curl around Barnes’ neck. Their thumb brushes against his jawline for half a second, and they catch the glimpse of confusion turn to understanding the moment before they pull him in.

It’s an awkward angle, made even more awkward by Cel’s goggles knocking into Barnes’ forehead. They reach up and pull them off, and the angle immediately gets better. Barnes lips are chapped and rough, and he tastes mostly like blood, but it’s not the first time Cel’s kissed someone who has blood on their mouth, and it probably won’t be the last. There’s a moment's hesitation and then Barnes’ hands settle, one on the small of Cel’s back and one on their waist, gripping tightly as he pulls them closer. 

It’s desperate and hurried, spurred on by the lingering remnants of Cel’s abject fear from seeing Barnes’ _covered_ in his own blood, and they start crying again when they realise that they could have missed all of this, that Barnes could have been gone, forever, and Cel would have never been able to tell him how much they wanted to go to the coast with him, how they were already making plans for the boat they’d build, how Barnes slowly and steadily had become the center of their world and how they couldn’t envision a future without him in it, and -

Cel pulls back and just presses their foreheads together, fingers resting gently on the side of his face. 

“Huh,” Barnes says, sounding a bit nonplussed, and Cel scrambles back, hands falling down to their side lightning-fast as they sit back on their feet. 

“Sorry, sorry, that - I should have asked, I shouldn’t have just - gods, Barnes, I -” Cel says, speaking so quickly that they don’t even know if Barnes can understand them. “This was - that was over the line, I didn’t mean to do that without asking, I was just - it hit me, really, how close this all was, and I, just, I really can’t -”

Barnes shakes his head and reaches out, taking Cel’s hand. “Cel. It’s fine. I didn’t stop you.”

“Because I didn’t give you a chance to, I just - my emotions got the better of me, and -”

“I didn’t stop you _for a reason_ ,” Barnes cuts them off, and there’s so much wrapped up into those seven words that Cel feels overwhelmed with the strength of it. It’s - it’s _so much_ , it’s too much, way too much for Cel to examine right now, and as much as they want to reach out and pull Barnes back in for another kiss, want to cling to him and pretend that none of this is happening, they don’t want to overstay their welcome.

“I should go, um. Back to my tent. Um. I - tomorrow, I’ll - I need to rest for the druids to return, and ,” Cel stammers out. They turn to go and then feel a hand on their wrist, stopping them in their tracks. They look back, and Barnes is looking up at them with an unreadable stare.

“I’m not going to stop you. But. You don’t have to go, if you don’t want,” he says, and Cel unconsciously takes a step closer to him. His hand drops from their wrist as he settles onto the bedroll.

“What do you... mean?” Cel asks, relatively sure that they know but needing Barnes to say it, to confirm, because - well, because they’re frankly an emotional mess right now and they need _something_ spelled out for them before they run wild in the incorrect direction.

Barnes shrugs, an awkward angle with him laying down, and pats the bedroll. “Room enough for two.”

Cel _knows_ how small the bedrolls are, and is certain that Barnes is lying, but every single nerve ending they have feels completely fried and they’re so _tired,_ physically and mentally and existentially, that they aren’t going to argue with him on it. They let him pull them closer, sinking to their knees as they shrug off their massive coat. Barnes reaches over and grabs a shirt; it’s only going to get colder as the night goes on, and as much as Cel _appreciates_ his look right now, they’d much rather he didn’t freeze to death. 

He shifts onto his back, bruise on the side that Cel doesn’t claim. They curl up under the covers with him, legs tangled with his as they rest their head on his shoulder. 

“I’m not going to break,” Barnes says, hand tracing up and down Cel’s back. Cel lets their own hand trail over his torso, coming to rest with their fingers pressed right against his heartbeat, reassuring themselves that Barnes is here, that he’s alive, that he’s alright. 

“You almost did,” Cel whispers, shutting their eyes as they listen to his heartbeat. “That’s what scares me.”

It sits, in the darkness. Barnes doesn’t make any promises; Cel wouldn’t want him to, anyway. They’ve been around too long, seen too many of them broken, and Barnes was the first person who really understood that in some time. 

“Get some rest,” Barnes murmurs instead, turning as he presses his nose into Cel’s hair. “Long day.”

“You’re the one who got _impaled_ ,” Cel mutters, and runs their fingers down the fabric of his shirt until it’s resting right above the bruise.

“Got lucky,” Barnes reminds them, and reaches down to pull their hand back up so that it’s resting, palm down, against his heartbeat. “I’m still here.”

Cel swallows heavily and scooches a bit closer to him, blinking against the pressure building up in their eyes. Honestly, they’re relatively sure that they’re all sobbed out, but wouldn’t be shocked if their body came up with more reserves. They press their forehead against his chin, tucking their head into his neck, and hold on.

And, for the first time all day, they’re truly able to breathe. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was such a good ep but also i am fully broken
> 
> hmu @ ohallows on tumblr


End file.
